


A Rocky Start

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Bickering, Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Morning Sex, Sehnsucht Era, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-23 17:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21085337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Paul gets up earlier than Flake, and decides to make them breakfast. Soon enough, Flake joins him with a lovely surprise. Paul was never the best at resisting temptation.





	A Rocky Start

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't get the visual of half-dressed, sleepy Flake out of my head.

The crackling of cooking sausage and the sizzling of frying eggs fills the silence of the occupied kitchen. Sunlight falls in gentle rays across the hardwood floor through the window above the counter. The coffee machine bubbles with life. A smile lingers on Paul’s face as he alternates between flipping the sausage, and staring out the window. There’s a bird’s nest on a branch of the tree outside Flake’s flat. He counts three eggs. The mother is absent. Paul wonders what she’s busy doing while he smoothly slides the spatula under the sausages. He places them upon a plate lined with paper towels to soak up the lingering grease. Then he places the pan with the eggs onto an unused burner, turning off the stove top. With perfect timing, the toast pops up with a ding that has him jumping. He laughs to himself. That’s what he gets for imagining what a bird is up to.

Just as he begins plating up the food, he hears soft footfalls against carpet, and a crack of joints when a certain _someone_ stretches with a groan. Paul looks over to see Flake pacing up to him—his blonde locks are messy, tousled around his sharp, youthful face in a rather _cute_ way. He’s wearing only his pyjama top, which has a navy blue plaid design. It’s buttoned sloppily. Paul can see his dick just hanging out, just chilling, having a great time remaining unconfined by Flake’s noticeably absent boxers. His legs are long and lean, muscular. Paul snorts, eying him up. Flake sleepily grinds his fingers into his eyes while Paul scoffs and says sharply, “Flake, I already cooked us enough sausage, yet here you come in here with that!”

Dropping his hand, Flake blinks heavily and squints at him, raking his wild blonde hair back. Paul arches a brow at him. He gestures to his lower half with the spatula. Flake ducks his head to look at himself. Then he lifts his gaze to stare at Paul with a lack of amusement.

“I seemed to have misplaced the other half of my pyjamas,” he drawls, and then pointedly squints down at Paul’s lower half—which currently bears Flake’s pyjama pants. Paul giggles. He sets the spatula down, stepping up to the other man. He reaches out to slide his calloused, guitar-roughened hands up under the button top, enjoying the heat of Flake’s skin. Flake shudders, staring down at him with a more alert look in those pretty blue eyes, his jaw clenching. Paul speaks with a grin, eyes twinkling.

“Together, we complete one outfit.”

Rather true, considering Paul is shirtless. Flake rolls his eyes. Paul rakes his nails down Flake’s slim back, earning a delicious shudder that widens Paul’s grin, bringing out his laugh lines and crow's feet. He steps ever closer, minimalizing the distance between them, until his muscular chest is against Flake’s, his hands roaming downwards, smoky gray eyes trained up on Flake’s. He sees the way Flake’s eyes mist with bashfulness, his throat flexing when he swallows thickly. Paul then clutches two tight handfuls of Flake’s ass, squeezing hard enough it has Flake hissing and stumbling into Paul’s front. Paul laughs and looks up at him with amusement, beaming.

“Wow, look what I found! You even brought me some buns!”

“Are you purposefully trying to kill the mood?” Flake demands, red-faced now. “Or was that supposed to make me laugh?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize there was a mood,” Paul teases with a sultry tone, waggling his eyebrows at the taller man. Flake squints down at him, an unspoken display of how he’d like to throttle him. Paul chuckles and then releases the handfuls he has of his ass. Instead, maintaining eye contact, Paul lets his slim hands roam over the swell of his asscheeks. A slow up and down stroking, admiring the feeling and heat of him, nails lightly skimming across the skin which wakens with goosebumps. He then gropes his ass again, squeezing tight enough it has his knuckles whitening, while pulling him in closer. Flake gasps, broad hands flying up to grab onto Paul’s bare, freckled biceps. They bodies are flush, but Flake seems reluctant to close the distance between their faces; he’s leaning back from him, keeping that hold on his arms. Paul feels something stiff poking into his hip. His smile becomes amused, revealing a sliver of teeth. Just like he thought.

“It wasn’t a sausage after all!” he cries, grinning up at his very flustered partner, “It’s much more rigid than I thought. Must be a banana, then. Trying to bring some potassium to our breakfast, Flake?”

“You are so unbearable in the morning,” Flake groans, grimacing with his hands pushing at Paul’s biceps—trying to get away. “Your jokes are infinitely worse. Your brain must still be back in bed.”

“Absolutely,” Paul agrees, not feeling very clever, though he’s becoming annoyed at Flake’s attempts to escape. He just hoists Flake closer by the handfuls he has of his ass, refusing to let him wiggle away. Flake sighs and gives up. He just lets Paul hold him, staring down at him with pressed lips and a knit brow. Paul pouts up at him, eyes narrowed.

“Why are you trying to get away from me? You brought me this banana and everything. Why wouldn’t I try and taste it, after having it delivered to me so nicely?”

“Because I know you’re going to try and kiss me first, and I have yet to brush my teeth,” Flake remarks flatly, unwilling to play along with his banana joke. With this honesty, Flake tries to pull away, but Paul tuts like he’s about to scold Flake for not washing his hands before a meal.

“Oh, please. Come here.”

With that, he hooks a muscular arm around Flake’s shoulders, strong hand gripping his bicep, and pulls him down. Flake grunts when Paul smacks their lips together. Paul’s hand circles around his hip to instead curl warm fingers around his awakened cock. The feeling of his stiff shaft caught in his grasp is lovely. The skin is soft and warm, arching up into a velvety head that has Flake jerking and sharply breathing in when Paul tickles at it with his fingertips. Paul giggles. He recloses his fingers around the base, simply holding his erection while refocusing on the kiss.

Flake’s glasses are slightly askew on his face as their mouths purse together. Paul kisses the other man passionately, mashing his lips upon Flake’s, gradually weakening Flake’s hesitance, until his lips are pliant under his own, totally giving into Paul’s whim. And Paul’s whim consists of gently prying Flake’s mouth open with careful maneuvering of his lips, until he can dip his tongue in-between his teeth.

Flake tastes like Flake. It has Paul repressing an ill-timed smile. He tightens his arm around him, holding onto him, his other hand awakening to begin lightly stroking along his cock, stiff and hot in his fingers. Flake detaches from the kiss, disappointing Paul slightly. Breathing heavily, Flake looks down at him with hazy eyes and smudged glasses. His wisps of blonde hair frame his face prettily. Smiling, Paul reaches up to lovingly tuck them behind an ear.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some sausage to eat.”

It seems Flake anticipated for him to break away, based on his release of breath and the relaxation of his shoulders, but instead, Paul moves to kneel. Flake takes a step back, but Paul crawls after him, looking up at him with fiery eyes as he sternly says, “Flake.”

That stills him. Flake’s face is red when Paul slides his hands up along the back of his calves, over his thighs, feeling hot skin and the tickling touch of his leg hair. Flake is staring down at him with wide eyes, partially hidden by his glasses. Paul smiles up at him, kneeling at his feet.

“What I meant by that is that I’m going to suck your cock,” he explains simply, batting his eyelashes up at him. Flake scoffs. He then grins sardonically, which is nice to see. He speaks in a mumble, obviously embarrassed.

_“Really?_ Thank you for the clarification. It was unclear to me.”

“You’re welcome. Now stop trying to run, damn it,” Paul complains, seeing Flake take a slight shuffle back. Paul knows he’s going to end up chasing him down the hall at this rate. Flake stops. Paul tightens his hands around the back of his lean thighs, tight with muscle. Paul smiles to himself. He leans in to nuzzle into his thigh, and then turns his face inwards towards his groin. Flake’s thighs clench up with tension under his hands—Paul runs through a brief series of calculations in his mind.

Flake is obviously not entirely comfortable, but he is _never_ entirely comfortable until he’s showered, and brushed his teeth. Paul practically has to throw himself at him to get it through his thick skull that he wants him, stinky morning breath and all. Doesn’t matter to him. Flake is uncomfortable, but he’s not forcefully detaching himself. Which means he is willing. God and everyone else knows damn well that Flake will complain and bitch and express his displeasure, until he’s run out of both the German and English languages—not that he has much knowledge of the English language, so he’d run out pretty quickly.

Evidently, Paul knows he wants this, to some degree.

Turning off his thoughts of contemplation, Paul nuzzles into his groin, eyes closing, breathing him in, enjoying the feeling of his hot skin and deeper scent found here. Flake’s hands fly up to grab onto Paul’s dark hair while he stammers, trying to wiggle away, “P-Paul! Don’t be disgusting!”

“I happen to like being disgusting with you,” Paul replies without pulling back from him, letting his lips whisper against his shaft as he speaks, hands groping along Flake’s quivering thighs, “Considering I put my tongue and dick in your asshole, I figured that went without saying. Well, Flake, believe it or not, _shit_ comes from there, and that’s much more disgusting than sticking my face between your thighs and exploring what I discover.”

“I-I—” Flake begins, stammering, because Paul lapping his tongue along the soft, warm skin of his balls is very distracting. Paul hums, prompting him to get it out while he curls his tongue around his balls and sucks at them. Flake’s trembling legs shakily spread a little more, feet sloppily sliding further apart across the hardwood floor. Paul wiggles closer on his knees, invigorated by that. He mouths wetly at his balls, eyes closed, nose rubbing along Flake’s hard cock. Then he trails the tip of his tongue up along the underside of his shaft, his amused gray eyes training up on wide-eyed blue.

“I can’t believe you just said that to me—” Flake gets out breathlessly, and then before he could say anything more, Paul angles his head to suck the pink head of his stiff cock into his mouth, his eyes closing, cheeks hollowing. Flake moans, hands tightening in Paul’s short hair. Paul begins slowly bobbing his head, cute lips tight around him, brow knit as he focuses on keeping tight suction. The wet sound of his sucking is loud in the kitchen. Paul can feels the rays of sunlight against his bare back. Sweat builds along the nape of his neck and under his arms. He’s uncomfortably warm, but it’s the least of his concerns with Flake’s pretty dick in his mouth.

“Paul,” Flake breathes, “That feels good.”

Paul hums around him, and then pulls off momentarily if only to say cheekily, slightly breathless, “Finally, something positive coming out of your mouth.”

Flake huffs.

“And yet I don’t understand _why_ my dick is coming out of _your_ mouth. Anything you have to say isn’t worth stopping.”

Paul pulls back to look at him with appalment.

“Rude!”

Flake’s face is pleasantly flushed, his eyes dilated. The sight, joined by Flake’s flushed cock, his muscular thighs, his heaving belly—all is forgiven. Paul grins and immediately roams his hungry hands up under the sloppily buttoned top once more, stroking along his flat stomach. His skin is so soft and _warm._ Paul hums and pushes up the top, exposing his tummy. He leans in to kiss at it lovingly, nose pushing into his skin dotted with cute moles. Flake’s grip relaxes in his hair. Instead, one broad hand slides over the back of Paul’s neck, an appreciated touch. It has Paul shuddering. A big thumb lightly strokes back and forth over his skin, shy and gentle. Paul smiles, nosing at his flat stomach. Spoken with reverence, he breathes, “God, you are so beautiful. I love your body.”

He then nips Flake on the belly, his hands roaming flatly across his back, feeling the dampness of his sweat trapped under his sleep shirt. It's slick and hot under his touch, and he’s aroused by it. He wants to lick it up. Paul is hard in these pyjama pants, incredibly so. He wants him so badly.

“What—No! Shut up!” Flake protests with hand pushing at Paul’s shoulder, earning a flick of piercing steel gray eyes. Flake is red-faced. Reaching up to fix his glasses, Flake huffs and says, “Don’t let your arousal make you say such fallacious things.”

“Oh, don’t even start,” Paul says, sliding his hands down along his back once more, across his cute ass, to squeeze the back of his muscular thighs again. He searches in Flake’s irritated eyes, seeing the twisted frown on his face. Paul knows he hates empty praise. But it is far from empty.

“Alright, that’s it,” Paul snaps, raising up again. Flake doesn’t even have time to respond before Paul is bending his knees, leaning over enough to hook both arms under Flake’s ass, hoisting him up with a grunt. Flake is light enough for him to pull it off. But he does wiggle a lot, as he demonstrates by kicking his legs, clutching at Paul’s back while he squawks. Paul’s steps are heavy against the hardwood floor, and then the carpet, as he carries the flailing Flake back into the hallway.

“Paul! This is ridiculous! I’m not a woman!” he cries, grabbing at Paul desperately, as if he would simply _die_ if Paul dared to drop him.

Nearly an hour of back and forth squabbling, a soothing massage from Paul’s strong, confident hands along Flake’s rigid body, then a slow, gentle fingering from the older man left Flake limp and pliable like jelly. And now he’s on top of Paul, who lounges back against the once slept-in covers, watching as Flake attempts to clumsily ride him. His long legs are folded up, feet planted against the bed for leverage, his hands propped back against Paul’s thighs as he shakily raises and lowers his hips. A frustrated, focused expression is on Flake’s face. He doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself.

“I’m terrible at this,” Flake mutters, obviously embarrassed with a blushing face. Paul hums, weak and warm from the sensations, from the indulgent visuals. His hands are occupied with stroking along Flake’s calves, feeling the muscles clench and work. Flake begins to quiver, attempting to support his weight while moving smoothly. His lengthy blonde locks fall across his shoulders and collarbone prettily, clinging to his jaw and cheeks with sweat. His glasses have long been abandoned. Paul’s thoughts drift back to the Engel music video, and how charming Flake looked. And _looks._ The lack of glasses reveals the entirety of his handsomeness, the youthfulness of his face. His eyes are very round and vibrant, the blue of them striking. His strong nose, his pretty, shapely lips. Ever since he was a young teen, he’s had such _vulnerable_ features. Like you could just do whatever you wanted to him. But the man himself is vastly different from the face.

Flake’s belly is clenching and rolling with the effort, his chest heaving, his biceps flexing and straining to support his weight. He’s so fucking beautiful. Paul stares, enraptured.

“God, I can’t stop watching you,” he whispers, stroking his hands up over Flake's lovely, lean thighs. Flake sputters and ends up collapsing, losing his focus. Paul grunts when the brunt of his weight falls onto him, his knees flying up, clutching at Flake’s sides with a slight grimace on his face. Ow. Flake curses and rolls off of him, stammering, “Sorry, shit! Paul, I can’t do this. Just fuck me like usual!”

“Alright, alright,” Paul laughs lightly, watching as the younger man moves onto his hands and knees—and, well, that is a lovely visual. He looks back at him, expectant. His face has that guarded expression again, but his eyes are weaker and easily displaying his flustered state. Meanwhile, from Paul’s perspective, Flake is wet between his asscheeks, and when Flake shifts, he gets a peek of a flushed, well-fucked asshole. Paul’s dick may as well have become marble.

He scrambles to get up behind him. Flake watches, moving to bear his weight onto his elbows. Paul’s legs frame Flake’s while he gets into position. He grips his cock, sweeps the slick head down between his asscheeks. Flake moans. Paul’s heart is racing, his stomach rolling with heat. He loves it when Flake gets all noisy. He watches, eyes downcast, as he pushes back into him. Hooking his thumb into his asscheek, he keeps him open, watching as he sinks into him. Flake shoves his hips back into it, ass suddenly flush to Paul’s pelvis. Paul grunts and grips Flake’s hips tightly, knuckles white.

“For the record,” Paul begins breathlessly, grinding into him with a firm roll of his hips, evoking a rumbling moan from the younger man, who is now hiding his face under his pale hair, “I love it when you ride me. I don’t care if you suck at it. You look so good on top of me, so shy and eager to please.”

“God, shut up!” Flake hisses, curling forward into the rumpled covers, hiding by pulling them over himself. Paul laughs sharply and bats it away, exposing the back of Flake’s very flushed neck. Paul can see his ears peeking out from his blonde hair, and those, too, are a bright red. He’s so cute. Paul is laughing still as he complains childishly, “You can’t hide! That’s not fair.”

_“You’re_ not being fair!”

“Look, that may be the case, but I want to fuck _you,_ not just an ass.”

“Just because you can’t see the rest of me doesn’t mean you’re not fucking _me!?”_

“It’s not the same! You’re just an ass if I can’t see the rest of you!”

“Oh, my fucking—Just move!” Flake snaps, slapping Paul on the arm with an indignant hand, looking back at him with an annoyed, noticeably blushing face. Paul laughs and then leans forward, hand planting against the bed. He kisses his temple, nose in his hair. Flake huffs and turns his head away, embarrassed. Paul noses at the back of his head, smiling, and kisses his way down over his prominent, strong shoulder blades. He licks up streaks of sweat, salty against his taste buds, which has Flake shuddering with a jolt.

Then he sits back, readjusting his position, pulling Flake’s hips into place. Silent and flustered, Flake shifts to accommodate it. Paul begins to thrust again—slow and long at first. Flake is releasing soft, breathless noises, which are just delicious to Paul’s ears. Meanwhile, Paul’s gaze roams up from the sight of his cock moving in and out of him, along his back, to his flexing shoulder blades, and his hanging head, his long hair shrouding his face.

Reaching out, Paul gently grabs him by the jaw, pushing his hair out of the way, and turns his head for those hazy blue eyes to train on him. Flake collapses onto his shoulder, body twisting slightly, his legs knocking into Paul’s. He looks at Paul dazedly, hand grabbing the covers, hair splayed wildly. Paul begins to fuck him with more force. Faster and harder, he gradually intensifies the rocking of his hips, into jarring thrusting that has Flake jerking with every connection. Paul watches his eyes roll back into his head while his eyelids close, his mouth agape. Paul continues holding him by the jaw, refusing to let him hide. He watches him, studying him as he fucks him. Flake’s upper body is flushed deeply, his legs quivering against Paul’s, hand pulling at the covers.

Paul loses focus. He’s close. The constricting heat of Flake’s body is too much. Joined by the continuous pace and force of his thrusting, it has his orgasm rushing up. Typically he slows down or stops altogether to prolong the sex, but he feels particularly greedy this morning. He releases Flake’s jaw to grab onto his hip again, using both hands to tug him back into his hungry thrusts.

That has the younger man moaning, crying out, raising up onto his hands again. He looks back at Paul as he begins to shove back into it, their bodies moving in tandem. The connection of their lower halves is powerful. Flake grunts, pain lacing the tone of it, his mouth falling open, eyes pinching shut. Paul is panting hard, his body heaving, trembling, his brain short-circuiting, while he loses sense of his motor functions—which is a good sign he’s about to fucking come.

With that in mind, he rips out of Flake, feverishly stroking at himself as he growls, eyes losing focus. Flake is squeezing his legs around Paul’s, feet hooked over his calves, watching as the other man shot his ropes of cum up over his back. Flake sucks in a sharp breath, staring with wide eyes and red cheeks as Paul’s hand slows to a stop over his reddened cock, now merely pulling firmly instead of stroking desperately. Thick droplets of his cum drip from the head to join the mess on Flake’s back—Paul slowly pulls at his cock with tight fingers, the skin wrinkling around the pink head, wringing out the remnants of his orgasm. It’s a filthy visual. His cheeks are a deep rogue, his boyish face twisted in pleasure. 

Panting heavily, Paul melts. He collapses onto his side, spent and exhausted. Surprising Flake, he doesn’t waste a second. Reaching out, Paul hooks an arm around Flake’s side, tugging him down. Flake splats onto his back. Paul gets up, flattens him against the bed, and crawls over him—moving into a sixty-nine position. Flake stares, wide-eyed, at the rather exposing visual Paul has given him while said man grabs his stiff cock, angles it up, and leans in to suck it into his mouth. Flake’s entire body ripples with tension, hands flying up to grab onto Paul’s thighs. He gasps, hips jerking. Paul hums around him. It sends shocks of pleasure throughout him. Flake grunts and arches his hips up. Paul makes a noise of pleasure, welcoming the greedy thrust of his cock into his mouth.

Paul loves it when Flake takes control. He encourages it by cupping his hands under his clenching ass, pushing and pushing until Flake understands. Digging his heels into the bed, he begins to rock his hips up, thrusting into his mouth. Paul hums around him, low with pleasure, eyes closed in focus.

He coughs when Flake’s thrusting deepens, his cock nudging the back of his throat. Flake only stutters once or twice, hearing this, before he realizes Paul doesn’t care. He gets greedy. He begins arching his hips up, farther and farther, until he’s forcing his cock into Paul’s throat, which has Paul coughing and spitting up around him. Flake doesn’t want to hurt him. He drops his hips back down. Paul pulls off just long enough to suck in air, panting, one hand slipping in-between Flake’s thighs to cup and squeeze his balls.

“I’ll take over,” Paul says, voice thick. Flake is speechless. He just lays there, staring at Paul’s everything, while Paul lowers his head to suck his dick back into his mouth. Flake drops his head back down, pale hair splaying out, moaning, hands clenching around Paul’s thighs. Paul begins bobbing his head, suction tight. Flake’s belly is roaring. His entire body begins to flex and ripple and tremble. Paul must have felt it in the clenching of his balls. He squeezes them in his hand while letting his rock hard length slide into his throat. He does this three more times, evoking choked noises from Flake.

“Stop,” Flake gasps out—Paul pulls off just in time for Flake’s forceful jets of ejaculation to hit him across the face. Paul flinches, and then laughs breathlessly. He immediately brings his hand in to begin jerking him off, aided by the slickness of his spit. Flake cries out, digging his nails into Paul’s thighs so hard it has Paul reflexively jerking his leg. Dazed and sensitive, Flake thrusts his hips up into Paul’s touching. Paul continues stroking his hand tightly over his cock, squeezing and fondling his tight balls. When Flake slumps back down, going limp, hands loosening around his thighs, Paul slows his stroking to a stop. He keeps his fingers tight around the base, arching his cock up to get a look at it.

He’s flushed a deep red, a thin coating of cum covering the head. Paul can’t help himself. He leans in to suck the head into his mouth, licking over it. Flake whines and jerks his hips back into the bed. Brow furrowed, Paul lowers his head to take half of it into his mouth, enjoying the feeling of how damn hard he _still_ is. His skin is hot against his tongue. Paul sucks off the rest of the lingering cum, which has Flake snarling his name and twisting his hips. Paul giggles when the younger man slaps him on the ass. He pulls off slowly, cheeks sucked in and lips tight around him. Flake gasps, pained, body twitching violently.

Paul loves toying with him. He pins his cock up against his belly, leaning over further to nuzzle into his warm balls, before licking over them. He feels Flake’s lean legs jump on either side of his head. Paul sucks at them, eyes closed, his belly warming with arousal all over again. Flake spanks him on the ass so damn hard that it actually hurts pretty badly that time. Paul lurches, huffing a breathy laugh against Flake’s balls. Then he finally moves off of him. Flake shoves him. Paul collapses onto his side atop the rumpled covers, laughing.

“Every time!” Flake snaps, moving to sit up, “Every time, I let you do what you want, and you take it too far!”

“Oh, you liked it,” Paul sighs, draping his arm over his face, relaxing back into the bed, “But now my ass hurts. So thank you for that.”

“I hope it does!” Flake remarks, and then continues, huffing and puffing, “Thank you for the eyesore of your dick and balls in my face, by the way. What a lovely visual.”

Paul is silent at that. Now he feels a little self-conscious. He’s never put Flake in that position before—he wasn’t thinking. He should have anticipated some bitching. Both sets of cheeks burning, Paul turns over onto his side, back to the other man, and huffs. He roughly wipes Flake’s clinging jizz from his face and petulantly rubs it off onto Flake’s sheets.

“Well… Whatever. I won’t do it again. It’s not like I see your junk every time we play Bück Dich.”

For once, he has no clever retort. Damn it. That was painfully obvious. He feels a little sore from Flake’s comment, and it’s pathetic. He’s considering if it would be childish if he slunk off to remake them breakfast. Flake is silent behind him.

Paul is starting to get annoyed. Why is he always the one that comforts Flake? Why is he always the one mindful of his feelings, and never the other way around? Flake will just _sit there_, like always, awkward and not knowing what to say. Paul brings a hand up to scrub at his face. This had a very unfortunate turn. He shouldn’t be so affected by what he said. Deciding it would be best to brush it off and change the subject, Paul moves to sit up.

“Wait,” Flake blurts, surprising him. Paul looks at him, arching a brow. Flake is obviously upset; his eyes are wary, brow knit, lips in a frown.

“I didn’t mean it. I was just joking, like we always do. I… Er. It…” Flake explains, and then becomes famously, painfully _not smooth_, like usual. Paul softens a little. He relaxes, watching the younger man stammer with a faint smile blooming on his face. Flake shakes his head sharply, long hair flying, and heaves a frustrated groan as he slaps a broad hand over his red face, hiding himself.

“It was hot, okay! That’s it, goodbye forever,” Flake explodes with a wide gesture of his hand, face twisting with embarrassment, before he plants a foot against the bed, shoots up into a standing position, and stomps his way off the bed and onto the bedroom floor. Paul cracks up laughing and turns to scramble off the bed, following him out of the bedroom as he calls, “Flake, wait! You did it! I’m proud! You told the truth for once!”

A middle finger awaits him when he bursts into the kitchen, where Flake fled to. Paul is quick to snatch him by the wrist, startling him, and kisses him rapidly over every finger, every knuckle, up to his wrist, and then beams at him, taking him by that hand. Flake side-eyes him, pouting with pleasantly flushed cheeks, and then mumbles, “You’re so dramatic. Let’s just remake the breakfast already. I’m _hungry,_ and you really had to go and let our food get cold for the sake of some dick.”

“It wasn’t just _some_ dick!” Paul protests as Flake stubbornly wiggles his hand out of his hold, turning to the stove, pointedly ignoring him and showing him his back. Paul huffs and continues despite that, proclaiming as if Flake would understand and recognize it as the most reasonable excuse, “It was _your_ dick! Also_,_ uh,you still have my jizz on your back; you should probably shower first.”

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
